August 4, 2015 • 3

Only fools are satisfied

A never-ending postcard to, from, for Italy.

Boboli breezes.

Vista da Boboli

When I was a little girl, my mom nicknamed me ‘Constant Motion.’ The concept of sitting still was, and remains, foreign to me. While I am in one place, I dream of another. As soon as I’ve made up my mind about something, I change it. I do not subscribe to the belief that it is challenging to maintain relationships in a state of ‘constant motion,’ especially the transatlantic kind. Many of my dearest friends are thousands of miles from me, and grazie to nifty little tools like Facetime, email, and when I am very lucky, airplanes, I never feel terribly disconnected. My friends share my passion for discovery, experience, travel, and movement. They are endlessly curious, their feet as itchy as mine, their collection of travel-size toiletries front and center under the sink.

Most of my vicarious experiences are via my amici in Italia, where I spend about 95% of my daydreams. Christine, a fabulous photographer with an unassuming, elegant aesthetic, walks me through Milano, as does Angelo, my chicissimo jazz singing Milanese amico. Elena sends me to Sicily and back to Milano, or wherever else in Italia she may be at the moment. Simone and Annalisa keep me steady in Firenze, where I find my equilibrium (and my wardrobe). For history and quintessential Firenze moments, I look to Alexandra, who shows me the city’s secret corners. In Roma, I admire green-covered buildings with Sara, tour Sardegna and attend modern art shows with Livia, and sail around Ponza with my darling Amanda, whose Roman husband spirited her away to southern Italia.

I also listen to the odd complaint about living in il bel paese, e certo, no where is perfect. That is what travel is for; to break, to change scenery, to introduce the senses to something new or something familiar, to learn and make memories, and soprattutto, to meet friends. We can be in constant motion and still feel our threads thicken; our knots grow tighter; our chunks of bread in the same caponata bowl. A presto, tutti.